The Road

The crack on the windscreen

slithering mountain ridges

against the setting sun

occasional splinters of light

when slightly tilted

levelling with the horizon

the blue pine tree orbiting

across the tracks

dancing to a music of its own

three stickers bleached

on the sprinkled dashboard

those you find on apples

the collector's pride

soon night will fall

that seemingly endless tunnel

no star to be seen

as it is storms season

redoubling the attention

right side window

refusing to budge

let old rain carve trails

on the expoxied trim panel

soon a dashlit, intent face

and another, flickering with sleep

in streetlamp intervals

seeming impervious

to the inbetweenness

the there and there moment

and yet, and yet, some form

of flitting magic is happening

in that such-a-deal rented car

hurtling through the night